


Upgrades

by Andresome04



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Andresome rights porn, BDSM, Body Modification, Dom/sub Undertones, Edited, I am literally dying as I write this, I am so sorry, Its not COVID-19 that will kill me it's this story, Light BDSM, M/M, Masochism, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, REDITED THE STORY, Rough Sex, Sexual Interfacing, Spike Modifications (Transformers), Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Unethical Experimentation, Unethical Medicine, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Valve Oral (Transformers), Valve Play (Transformers), Violence, after more than 10 weeks of not writing, and tag this, as of 4/3, essentially, i finally write porn, i have crossed a line I cannot uncross, im writing porn while in quarentine, last hurrah before school, lord fogive me for I have sinned, omg, please, read the tags, this is porn, valve modifications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23390710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andresome04/pseuds/Andresome04
Summary: “A little eager don’t you think?”The speedster barks out a hoarse laugh. “When ya got me where I wanna be, it’s hard not to get riled up. Besides,” a knowing glint shined his optics. “I ain’t hearin’ a no.”For that, Ratchet pulled some exposed wires from his chassis, earning him a groan. Sparks flew from the frame beneath him, traveling down red plating and into the open air. Some charge transferred into Ratchet’s frame, heightening his own growing arousal.“I suppose I could indulge you for a while. As long as you do as I say of course.” He replied with a knowing glint. “After all,” He nuzzled those same wires and watched as the exposed corona of Drift’s spark gleamed brightly while Drift’s bio-lighting throbbed with the same intensity, illuminating the darkroom with its sheen. “We have plenty of time to kill until this upgrade’s finished.”
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	Upgrades

**Author's Note:**

> That's right. I am back after more than 10 excruciating weeks of school and COVID-19 bullshit fucking up real life!! After all this time, I am back to writing and instead of finishing some WIPs, I'm writing porn. LMFAO! I was literally dying while writing this and I slightly regretting this but oh well. Fuck it. 
> 
> My first time writing erotica so please let me know what you think. I'll take it all. Critiques, comments, opinions, EVERYTHING. Don't pull back your punches. Imma shut up now. I am so sorry AND you're welcome.

Ratchet observed the monitors, checking stats on vitals, hardware, and the like. So far everything was in normal parameters; no outlying data of any sort; progress running surely and smoothly. Good.

He turned his attention to his writhing patient on the medical slab. Different wires and cables were plugged into the mech’s ports, connecting him to the machinery around him. Large tubes pumped synthetic energon and other fluids in a toxic brew of chemicals into the mech’s frame. Straps wrapped around wrists, legs, and chassis prevented the mech from much movement. Stained with energon and a history of scratches, the metallic bindings had faced a plethora of previous encounters, but the straps still held.

The mech on his slab continued to writhe, holding back whimpers and moans as the bonds kept the mech in place. Lines continued to pump synth gen and other fluids and with each draw, the mech shivers.

Ratchet approaches. Optics scouring over red plating, he notices the mech’s vents open and heaves gusts of hot air and smoke. He hears cooling fans working overtime trying to cool a rapidly heating frame. The mech is an unstable mess, and Ratchet appreciates the view. As he gets closer, his field clashes with the other’s, molten hot and quivering. He’s encompassed by the drunk lust and high euphoria emanating from his patient and his engine rumbles in approval.

He places a hand on a scalding red chassis and the other under his own helm for support as he leans on the medical slab. Red optics gaze down at the mech beneath him, a smirk pulling at his derma.

“Enjoying yourself Drift?

The speedster replies with a grunt, whether it was one of pain or pleasure didn’t matter. The quivering grin painting his handsome faceplates was proof enough that he was indeed enjoying every second of his current predicament, not that Ratchet was surprised. Mech always loved his upgrades. _Ratchet’s_ upgrades. And Drift had no shame in leaving himself open and bare before the medic, completely vulnerable to Ratchet’s whims and whatever _enhancements_ the doctor wanted to implement on his frame. Drift would take it all and love every second of it.

“Thought so.”

Ratchet moved his servo into the other’s opened red chassis and caressed the wiring nearest the spark. “You always did enjoy my upgrades. So eager to taste what I had in store for you. Only for you.”

Drift stifled a grunt.

“You should be very excited about this one. I added a very rare booster into one of these lines,” he stroked such a line connected to the back of Drift’s helm. “I know you love those.”

A feverish whimper escaped the speedster’s derma.

“And of course, I added a few enhancements to the synthetic energon. A newer version I brewed that will do wonders to your speed and stamina.”

This time, it was a high keen. _Such a good patient_.

Ratchet chuckled. “Thought you might like that.”

He returned his attention to the monitors. Levels were still within normal parameters. He watched the displayed progress for the upgrade which was currently 32% and rising and hummed his approval.

A groan from behind him earned a small smirk to grow on his intake, but he remained facing the monitors.

“Rach.”

 _That_ was what had the medic turn back to his patient. He was met with blazing yellow optics staring back at him, burning into his crimson ones. When the speedster spoke, his vocals were strained and the sound that came out was rough with static.

“C’mere. Now.”

He stood for a moment, simply staring back at the mech in silence, only the beeping monitors were heard in the room. He raised a brow.

“Excuse me.”

A transformation was heard a moment after as the medic slowly approached the prone bot, irritation, and anger blossoming in his chassis.

“Was that a fragging order? Did you just order me?”

When he was near, he leveled his hand—now turned saw—near the other’s spark. Ratchet was ready to slice open a few wires for the sheer _bolts_ of this pit-slag when he was enveloped by the other’s field. Need. Hard-driven and ravenous need, one he recognized with sudden familiarity.

He stared down at the mech beneath him, and he was met with Drift’s smoldering optics and felt the powerful engine beneath his fingertips rev ardently. Within kliks, he understood the situation completely.

A wicked grin cast upon his faceplates. He moved his servo, the one not transformed, under the speedster’s chin and brought his face close to his own. “Is that how it is hm?”

Ratchet stoked the faceplate with his thumb. “Feelin’ hot under the hood there, Drift?”

He transforms his hand back to its previous state and drags his digits down red plating slowly, teasingly. “A little eager don’t you think?”

The speedster barks out a hoarse laugh. “When ya got me where I wanna be, it’s hard not to get riled up. Besides,” a knowing glint shined his optics. “I ain’t hearin’ a no.”

For that, Ratchet pulled some exposed wires from his chassis, earning him a groan. Sparks flew from the frame beneath him, traveling down red plating and into the open air. Some charge transferred into Ratchet’s frame, heightening his own growing arousal.

“I suppose I could indulge you for a while. As long as you do as I say of course.” He replied with a knowing glint. “After all,” He nuzzled those same wires and watched as the exposed corona of Drift’s spark gleamed brightly while Drift’s bio-lighting throbbed with the same intensity, illuminating the darkroom with its sheen. “We have plenty of time to kill until this upgrade’s finished.”

This time, he licked those same wires before sucking them into his intake, rolling each piece with his glossa and denta repeatedly. He hears Drift’s quick invent and feels the shiver across his frame, spark glowing even more brightly as he continues to tease the nearest wires.

Eventually, he released them and traveled down red plating, taking his sweet time exploring every crevice and exposed wiring his intake and digits could sink into. He finds satisfaction in every sound that escapes the speedster and for every noise, Ratchet rewards him with an extra lick, tease of his derma, pull of delicate wiring, scrape of denta on plating…

After all, he was a good little patient and what kind of doctor would he be if he didn’t treat his good patients with a little something extra.

It was when he reached bulging panels at the apex of the speedster’s legs, did he pause. He glances up at the mech’s face and a bolt of arousal shoots through his frame at the crazed look given to him. Drift looks **ravenous** , with a hunger that knew no bounds and craving satisfaction. A look directly aimed at the medic below him.

Ratchet smirked, waiting just a moment longer to drive the mech to the brink of insanity before commanding a firm, “ **Open**.”

In the next instant, both panels pull away to reveal a heated and very damp array. Ratchet stared for a moment with a devilish smirk, rubbing the plating around both exposed arrays without touching.

Of course, Drift enjoyed Ratchet’s upgrades but was never too eager to install new features without caution for their purposes and benefits. It was part of their little game. Ratchet offers to improve Drift’s systems and, if Drift accepts—which he always does—the medic will install them. In return, the speedster was Ratchet’s loyal pet-bodyguard, always doing his bidding and protecting the medic at all costs.

A fine deal really, both parties reap their rewards while subtly taking advantage of the other. A precarious upgrade for equivocal servitude. Drift’s interface array was just another result of their ongoing arrangement.

A renovated spike enlarged with ridges and grooves surrounding it from base to tip. Different wires and bio-lighting peaked through the cracks of exposed plating, showing the rush of energon pressurizing the erect spike. Barbs that were currently inactive jutted out in their harmless state, promising a pleasurable and possibly punishable experience to the poor recipient of such a feature. But it was only one upgrade amongst countless others that were stored within this spike and it was what made it uniquely special. The anticipation made Ratchet’s mouth water.

Just below the spike was one of the most gruesome valves Ratchet had the pleasure of fashioning. Teeth. Sharp barb-like teeth jutted inwards from the valve-lips they were attached to, creating a horrific cage blocking the passage within. A long hook on the top of the valve jutted downwards, stretching just midway of the valve. The fact that it was right on top of the anterior node allowed for the hook to hover above the rows of teeth, presenting an almost grisly-like display. Lubricant seeped in between the small gaps, pooling at the bottom and onto the medical slab. Bio lights inside and surrounding the valve pulsed rhythmically, providing a glorious light show and illuminating the pool beneath it.

All in all, Drift’s array was Ratchet’s favorites to exploit on. Not that the Drift needed to know that little part.

The medic shifted his hands to pet the outer valve lips and the base of Drift’s spike, touching, but nothing more. He wanted the speedster to beg and he was going to get it.

He heard Drift’s fans go up a notch and a hiss escape him, but he still did not beg. No matter.

Ratchet bent forward and blew in between the teeth and right inside the valve. He watched as it clenched and oozed more lubricant before moving up and opening his intake above the twitching spike. His derma parted and hovered over the head, making sure he was not touching before breathing a long and hot breath over it.

With that, Ratchet got exactly what he sought for. The red mech groaned throatily and jerked against his bonds, but the straps held firm. Curses flew from his derma as he banged his helm against the slab, fists clenching tightly at his sides as Ratchet continued his assault. He finally glared down at the mech below him, optics frenzied and denta grinding.

Drift snarled. “Quit teasing ya son of a glitch and get on with it!”

Who was Ratchet to deny that? Oh yes, _him_.

He smirked challengingly. “Ask nicely and I **might** be willing to give you an overload.”

“Eat slag.”

In an instant, the medic shot up from his position until he was level with the speedster and in one fluid motion, he slapped him. Hard. So much so that his own hand stung a bit from the action.

He gripped the mech’s face with his servo and jerked his helm until he was facing the medic again. “Fragging do as I say, or I’ll stop everything. Upgrade included. See how you like an incomplete frame augmentation and its aftereffects.”

A world of pain is what he’ll get. Continuous frame glitches and nonstop aftershocks were common in unfinished/botched upgrades. Drift was all too familiar with these repercussions due to past incidents where he pulled Ratchet’s metaphorical tail a little too hard. Something he wasn’t keen on suffering again any time soon.

Biting his glossa, Drift reeled back his rising anger and irritation before looking at the furious medic above him.

“Fine. Frag me. _Please._ ” He barely managed not to spit in the medic’s face in retaliation.

Ratchet studied him, silently gauging the other mech’s expressions. Eventually, after a very tense moment, he released Drift’s faceplate but not before giving a hard nip to his chin. A warning.

He made his way back down the speedster’s frame before taking hold of the other’s spike and giving a hard tug. He watched as the red mech twitched before giving the large member a few extra squeezes, even granting it a few licks just to see the mech thrash. After a few more tugs, he shifted until he was facing his valve again.

With a digit on the outer lips, he forced the valve to open and teeth to part slightly, causing the lubricant caught in between the gaps to make a squelching sound. He looked up at the speedster once again and commanded:

“Open.”

In the next moment, the teeth parted outwards while the hook shifted upwards, allowing the medic full access to the depths within. Not wasting another second, Ratchet pressed his intake into the opening and set to work. The sharp pieces dug into his cheeks and sides of his helm as he licked, sucked, and nipped every node he could reach. He heard the speedster beneath him growl and moan with every action made inside his valve and Ratchet desired to hear more of it.

He added a few digits alongside his glossa and heard Drift curse and spasm on the medical slab. He couldn’t help but chuckle as the speedster tried to incline his hips upwards, but the straps made it futile.

Drift wasn’t moving any time soon.

When Ratchet began to hum, Drift’s engine roared while his fans reached a maximum. His field enveloped the entire room, heavy with arousal, desire, and unrestrained need. Every time he felt Ratchet’s glossa work away at his valve, he snarled; every time he felt his digits twist and curl, he moaned; and when the medic hummed, he damned near howled.

Ratchet, wanting to hear even more, pulled his intake from the valve and began to suck fervently at the dripping spike above it, never stopping the movement of his digits. He hears a guttural groan and feels the convulsions around his digits increase greatly.

Feeling his own need arising as well, Ratchet quickens his actions, wanting the speedster to reach his peak sooner rather than later.

He swirls his glossa around the head of the spike in swift strides before enveloping as much of the spike into his intake as he could, flexing his throat cables, and wrapping the rest with his unoccupied servo. He continues to plunge his digits mercilessly into the other’s valve, rubbing as many nodes as he could reach and enjoying the squelching noises resulting from his actions.

Finally, Drift reaches his peak. A roar escapes him as his body becomes taught, charge leaping over his frame and cracking into the heated air. The binds strain as he pulls against them, creaking from the pressure.

Ratchet continues to drive him through the overload. Never ceasing his movements until the speedster finishes shuttering against him. He swallows the transfluid that erupts in his intake until the spike softens and works his digits through the sopping valve. Eventually, he pulls away completely and slides his glossa across his derma, enjoying the remnants that had stuck there.

He stares down at the mech below him and he rumbles in amusement and arousal. Drift is heaving, but charge still travels across his frame, indicating his arousal hasn’t abated.

Good. Ratchet wasn’t done with him yet, not by a long shot.

With a loud snap of his panels retracting, he gains the speedster’s attention and grinned.

“I hope you got some energy left in you. Because I’m not through with you yet.” His grin turned predatory. “Not until I get mine.”

With a grunt, he climbs the berth and straddles Drift’s thighs. His frame is hot and heavy, and he feels the other’s frame respond with a rev of his engine. The vibrations travel down to his spike and valve, causing both to throb. Their fields clashed in a toxic cloud of lust, hunger, and greed; the sensations so overpowering, it was dizzying.

For a moment, Ratchet flicked his optics to the monitors and noted the progress was at 61%. Plenty of time to delve into the _real_ good part.

With one powerful push, Ratchet bore down on Drift’s frame, hands pressing down on the speedster’s shoulders, and green hips slamming onto red ones. The impact left both their frames ringing.

Charge build and transferred between them, heightening their growing arousals as their frames ground against each other. Every point of contact of metal on metal left scratches and paint transfers, but neither paid head. Their only focus was to rut against the other until their sensors were raw from the stimulation. The room filled with their erotic noises, uncaring of the outside world or who trespassed. None of that mattered to them.

As pleasurable as it was, however, the sensations weren’t enough. Ratchet wanted more, needed more, and frag dammit he was going to take it. To the pits with everything else.

He maneuvered his body until his exposed valve was hovering right on top of the speedster’s spike. His limbs were shaking slightly but he held firm, wanting to add that last tease before reaching the main event he’d been waiting for.

His optics found Drift’s and for a single moment, everything stilled—then Ratchet dropped.

Both groaned as the medic’s valve engulfed the spike in one fluid stroke, their plating reverberating upon contact. The sensory nodes in Ratchet’s valve went aflame as different ridges, grooves, and barbs raked across them. Pleasure bloomed in his neural net along with some pain from the penetration which was what Ratchet wanted from the beginning.

He ground their frames until sparks flew, making sure that spike hit every node it could reach. He heard a hiss and felt a tightening of the frame beneath him. It wasn’t lost to Ratchet that Drift was enjoying this immensely, no doubt as much as he was.

He snatched the speedster's helm until he was facing the medic again and kissed him brutally. Denta clashed and derma slammed so hard they dented. It didn’t take very long for Drift to catch on and immediately met Ratchet in a heated battle for dominance.

But this wasn’t about Drift’s pleasure. No. This was about Ratchet getting what _he_ wanted—what he deserved, and he was going to get it whether Drift enjoyed the ride or not.

Ratchet separated their connection but remained close enough that a few strands of oral fluid had yet to snap. His optics burned into Drift’s, crazed and imposing.

“Activate module C-741.”

Drift stared for a moment, fully processing what was commanded of him, before grinning like a mad mech.

In the next second, the barbs that adorned his spike flared to their full capacity, stretching the valve walls farther than before.

He could feel Ratchet tighten around him, enjoying the sensations bombarding his throbbing spike. He watched as the medic tensed, leaning back as a throaty moan escaped his parted derma. He could feel the medic’s servos dig into the plating on his shoulders, but ignored the slight pain. Ratchet made for a pretty sexy sight above him and made it all worth it.

It didn’t take long for Ratchet to become accustomed to the stretch and when he did, he was quickly rocking his hips up and down the spike, impaling himself each time and feeling every barb dig into his valve lining. With each jab, he felt his sensors light on fire. The barbs were sharp enough to lightly scrape the inner mesh but not enough to cause serious damage. That fact alone made the experience even more thrilling.

So, Ratchet rode the speedster at a pace where his needs were being met, but not for long. No, it wasn’t nearly enough to fulfill the craving in his lines and he soon became unsatisfied.

He looked at the mech below him and gave his second command. “Activate C-653.”

Within moments, the spike within his valve began to swell. Ridges flared and plating expanded, pushing the taut mesh walls passed their previous limits. Ratchet threw back his head and howled while Drift met him with his own bellow.

Their connection became suffocating as the medic’s valve could barely flutter around the enlarged spike. The lips surrounding the base were stretched thin and the plating near the medic’s abdomen bulged slightly.

It was agonizing. It was excruciating. Borderline of ad nauseum. Ratchet loved every second of it.

The feeling of being full, of being stretched beyond limits to the point it was almost sickening. It drove Ratchet wild. He ground down, twisting his hips to get a good feel of how full he was.

“Frag yeah—!”

His face scrunched as several barbs prickled at his walls—no make that all of them. He could feel each point dig into his swollen nodes, and he keened at the pain-pleasure shooting across his sensors.

“That’s the fragging ticket—Hrk! Ha! Like that—!”

He raised his hips slightly, slowly, near impossibly, and looked down at their connection. His valve was stretched thin, lubricant coating the spike and dripping down red armor. With some effort, he lowered himself, grunting as the exposed barbs and plating burrowed deep into his valve.

Ratchet worked himself into a slow rhythm, gyrating his pelvis onto Drift’s, feeling the thick spike throb and twitch inside him. His fans skyrocketed to a maximum, armor shifting to release gusts of heat. It was euphoric. Tantalizing. His charge soared by the minute and with each passing moment, his speed hastened to chase the charge off.

He was suddenly distracted by a desperate whine, however. Optics shifting to the source, he saw the mech beneath him in a frenzy.

Drift, so lost in the overwhelming impulses driving him, was close to completion. His thrashing became more violent as he tried thrusting his hips to meet Ratchet’s movements. The straps binding him were strained; several bolts were pulled from their sockets due to his strenuous exertions while the berth creaked ominously. He was close and this overload promised to be the big one…

Ratchet snarled. For a split second, rage clouded his processor and he backhanded the errant speedster hard. Anger and annoyance bleeding into his field.

He grabbed Drift by his chin and bent forward until their noses jabbed. “Don’t even _think_ about finishing before I do. You’re not overloading until I get mine!”

He hissed into the other’s audio. “ **Overload, and I’ll make you regret it**.”

Ratchet paused and watched as the other growled low and grit his fangs together, glaring daggers at the medic on top of him. Serves the slagger right for thinking he can get his way against Ratchet.

No. _He_ was in charge here. Ratchet gave Drift what he asked for—created Drift from practically nothing and made him to what he is now. Ratchet _owned_ Drift and he was going to use him the way the medic saw fit.

He watched as Drift huffed, daring the speedster to challenge him, but nothing of the sort came.

Once Drift settled slightly, —to the pits with the glitch’s attitude—Ratchet sat back on the speedster’s hips, bearing down with all his weight and snorting when he heard a muffled grunt from beneath him. Charge still crackled between them, having yet to dissipate despite their brief pause.

His gaze flickered to the monitors and took note of the displayed readings.

Levels: Normal

Spark Rate: Elevated.

Pfft. Of course, it was.

Progress: 94%

Hm. Pity. He’d have liked to have more fun before the upgrades finished or at least get an overload or two before then, if only just to have the mech under him restrained for a while longer. They would have to hurry things along, he supposed.

Turning to the speedster, he readjusted himself so he was best prepared for their final act. With hands on shoulders and green thighs squeezing red hips, Ratchet made his next order.

“Activate mod C-904.”

There was a pause, longer than Ratchet would have liked, but before he could utter another word, charged erupted from his valve and shot straight through his spinal column like a bolt of lightning.

His body lurched then spasmed as mind-blowing pleasure cascaded up and down his frame. He threw his head back, optics blazing with sheer intensity as his intake widened in a silent scream. The sensors in his valve were overwhelmed as the enlarged, barbed spike vibrated inside him.

When the ability to speak returned to him, his voice was hoarse as the overall stimulation was intensifying. Keens, sobs, and cries escaped him, reveling in the unbelievable pleasure traveling across his neural net.

97%

He quickly shifted his hips, trying desperately to grapple the extra charge racing through him. He manages to lift himself a few inches before impaling himself once again. A high-pitched cry escapes him.

98%

His thighs quake and his arms feel numb. His entire frame is overcharged and beyond sensitive, but he still hangs on in a reckless attempt to reach that maximum stimulation, going so far as to jerking off his own spike to heighten the incentive.

99%

He gyrates his hips in one last sweep, ascertaining that the vibrating spike lay flush against his ceiling node and that his anterior node presses against the red plating of Drift’s pelvis.

It was that final push that drives Ratchet over the edge. His body wracks with convulsions as he bellows in overload. Senses escape him and for a moment, the only thing that existed was the raw pleasure consuming his entire frame.

He collapses onto the speedster below him, fans working overtime and limbs feeling heavier than ever before. His head ends up resting on Drift’s shoulder while the rest of his frame remains sprawled over the other’s. He’s dimly aware of the excess charge and the suffocating heat emitting from the frame below him, but it was of no importance to him. His need had been satiated.

Unbeknownst to the medic, several fibers in the straps had begun to tear and the berth below them groaned ominously. The frame beneath him rumbling thunderously.

As he slowly regains his bearings, his optics catch sight of a blinking light. It takes him a few seconds for his vision to refocus and processor to finish rebooting but is finally able to process the information displayed.

“Well, whatdya know?” He rasps. “Your upgrade is complete.”

He blinked as the slab beneath them groaned before it shook. It was his only warning before he gets a face full of metal shards.

In the next second, his world spins out of balance until his back hits a hard surface and his limbs are pinned to the slab. His systems try to process what the frag just happened but in the next instant, his vision is filled with red.

Above him, Drift pants, optics scorching, and field a smoldering blanket of charge. Electricity ripples down his body as peaked arousal races down his lines. His armor is ruffled, dispelling buckets of heat in a desperate attempt to cool his systems. Tubes and wires hung limply off him, their contents already expelled into the mech’s frame, serving more as dead weight than anything.

Drift feels liked a jacked mechanism. He revels in the added reinforcements integrated into his frame and feels the extra power running through his systems, driving him to the brink of insanity and onto the cusp of overload.

His optics never left Ratchet during his completion. He almost lost it when he saw the sexy medic shatter above him, overloading in a way that he’d rarely seen before.

Hunger surges inside him. A hunger to expel this near-insurmountable craving and to test this new power surging within him.

Empowered by the added enhancements and the extra charge racing through his frame, Drift is at his strongest peak, ready to exercise his latest transformation—and what better outlet to test this new upgrade than the medic who created it.

He grabs Ratchet by the legs and raises them to his shoulders before pushing _down_. Using his weight, he forces the medic’s valve to spread even further around his spike. A guttural moan escapes him as he feels the valve squeeze him tightly.

Ratchet was not one to be caught off guard, if ever. This was an exception. Of course, he should have realized that the extra upgrades would have given Drift energy paramount to anything previously tested. Perhaps he should have exhibited extra precaution for any outliers or unexpected flaws in the augmentations. Breaking his bonds, however, was not something that occurred to Ratchet in the slightest—

Nor did he expect the spike currently fragging his valve to begin round 2 so soon, especially at a pace that made the medic see stars and (admittedly) made thinking a little difficult.

He’ll give Drift this round at least. Fragger certainly worked for it. He’ll think of some form of retribution for breaking his medical slab later but for now, he’d settle for being an abused outlet.

Relenting, but not relinquishing. Ratchet gripped Drift by the fins and pulled him down for another clash of derma, this one more brutal than the last. They were intertwined for a long while until Drift broke away with a snarl.

The medic’s digits attacked the wires beneath red plating when the speedster suddenly went after his throat cables, paying similar treatment to what Ratchet did earlier in their session.

He left long scratches on Drift’s back plating, digits curling as the pleasure reignited once again and soared to elevated levels. He could feel Drift doing the same, the speedster’s claws raking down his thighs and fangs biting into the lines in his throat, sharing the same pleasure.

The spike mods were still at work and had not ceased their activity since Ratchet first ordered their activation. They proved useful in driving the medic close to the edge once again, faster than before but no less efficient.

It only took a few more thrusts before both met their ends, overload ripping through their frames like bolts of lightning. They trembled against one another, moving throughout their overload to draw out the sensations until it left them raw. When it was over, they sagged against each other while their fans worked overtime to cool their frames.

It was Ratchet who recovered first, shifting slightly to speak into the other’s audio finials. “Enjoy yourself Drift?”

He felt rather than heard the long sigh tickling his throat cables. It was a moment later when Drift raised himself from his collapsed position. His optics shown brightly, and his movements were only slightly sluggish, but he still looked sharper than ever before.

Fragging upgrade.

Drift looked to the medic beneath him, knew the medic asked him a question but decided to bide his time before answering. He still had some charge to burn off but decided not to push his luck. Even when the medic was debauched as he currently was, he could still be a pain in the aft when he wanted to be.

But Drift got what he needed. He had his upgrade with the bonus of fragging **his** medic on his own slab. Yes, **_his_** —because Ratchet was just as much Drift’s as Drift was Ratchet’s whether the medic admitted it or not. May the pits be damned before the fact changed otherwise.

A slow smirk made its way on the speedster’s faceplates. Finally, he answered. “Damn right I did.”

Ratchet scoffed and studied him for a moment longer, mulling over his thoughts. Drift studied him in return. Neither speaking as the monitors echoed in the background.

He raised a servo and brought it behind Drift’s helm.

“In that case,” He brought Drift down until their faces were almost touching, their ventilations mingling. His crimson optics staring into golden. He pressed closer until their dermas brushed, feather-like in their touch.

“Clean this slag up.”

He shoved the other mech away from him and watched as the ruby mech regained his balance a few steps away. When he recovered, Drift shot him an incredulous look which Ratchet responded with only a raised brow in challenge.

For an instant, neither spoke.

Then the speedster chuckled darkly, a slight roughness tainting his vocals. “Yes, sir.”

After all, it was just part of their never-ending game.

He pulled a cloth from his subspace and approached the sprawled medic, ignoring the tubes and cables that dragged behind him. There was transfluid splattered all over Ratchet’s pelvis and thighs, much more than Drift anticipated. He looked more like a ravaged pleasure bot than a renown medic and the sight caused his arousal to stir once again.

Lowering himself until he was level with the sticky mess, he was about to set to his task—only to be kicked away by a pede.

He shot an annoyed, questioning look but was met with a firm glare. “I never said to use a cloth.”

Drift stared. Then he grinned wickedly, dropping the cloth onto the floor.

“No, you didn’t.”

He licked his derma and immediately set to work.

**Author's Note:**

> ...yeah. So that's that. I am still dying in the inside. My spring break is finished. I start school tomorrow. Life is Hell. PLEASE let me know what you think. I...I literally have no more words for this story anymore. If you wish to take something from this or produce something, feel free to do so. Just let me know and credit me properly. 
> 
> For now, uh, bye.


End file.
